Demons to Face Part Two: Walls
by katbybee
Summary: 2nd story in my "Demons to Face" Trilogy "Appearances" is 1st. In which Hutch makes decisions affecting his future, and his and Starsky's paths cross several times before they become police officers. Warning! Graphic Violence...Vietnam War and P.O.W. Scenes. Guest Starring Illya Kuryakin and Mark Slate from Man from UNCLE TV series. I own nothing, just playing in the giant sandbox.


_August 31, 1963_

 _Bay City, California_

"What do you man he's gone?! We just got him home from the hospital yesterday!" Sgt. Harold Dobey was both angry and afraid. He had answered his wife's call at his desk downtown at the Ninth Precinct stationhouse. Edith was frantic because Hutch had disappeared on her when she went out to the market after he had promised to stay put. Not knowing what else to do, she had called her husband.

"I'll come home and we'll look around. He'll turn up."

All the way home, Dobey alternately fretted and fumed. He wracked his brain trying to figure out where the rebellious sixteen-year-old might have gone. Suddenly, it hit him. He drove down towards the seedier side of Bay City, to a small, dilapidated neighborhood, some railroad tracks, a scattering of warehouses, and a large empty field…the field, Dobey knew, where Hutch and his friend David Starsky had first met.

Somehow, Dobey knew that the lost soul within the boy he had taken in would seek out his best—hell—his only friend. Starsky seemed to be the only one who could reach Hutch—the only one Hutch would let near.

Sure enough, he found the boys sitting on the front stoop of a warehouse near Starsky's home. There were both smoking cigarettes. At Dobey's approach, Dave guiltily dropped his and ground it out under his well-worn blue tennis shoe. Not Hutch.

He simply took a deep drag on the butt, and stared defiantly at the imposing black man in front of him. His whole posture reeked of arrogance and anger. He blew out a smoke ring slowly and deliberately.

Dobey knew this was not going to be an easy encounter, but then, nothing about Hutch was ever easy. He took a deep, calming breath and began.

"Why did you scare Mrs. Dobey that way? Especially after you promised you'd stay in the house?"

"I said it so she'd leave me alone. I don't need her sympathy, and I sure as hell don't need your lectures."

"Regardless, I don't think I need to remind you that you are under my authority. I do have the—"

"Stuff your authority!" Hutch hissed angrily. With these words, Hutch very deliberately glowered at the older man, and proceeded to flick his ashes on the man's shoes; the ultimate sign of disrespect in Hutch's old life—and Dobey knew it. His first instinct was to slap the boy, but gaining instant control; he decided on an entirely different approach. He roughly jerked Hutch to his feet, and before the startled boy had time to react, he handcuffed him. The blond teenager was livid, and terrified, Dobey noted, not without some satisfaction. He had to reach this boy before it was too late.

Starsky sat frozen and mute with shock. Then he got mad. "Hey! You can't do that!"

Dobey snapped, "Oh, yes I can. He's violating the terms of his probation. You want to go with him?"

Starsky's eyes widened as Dobey's words had the intended effect of silencing him.

"Now, David, go home, unless you want me to take you home, and have a talk with your aunt."

Starsky, needless to say, left…quickly.

Hutch ground out, "So, you runnin' me in, or what?"

"That, Kenneth, depends entirely upon you. Do you want to stop playing games and get your life together? Or, do you want to end up in jail, or worse? I will abide by your decisions, but I wish you'd give yourself a chance."

Hutch considered for a moment, sighed, and turned his back on Dobey, rattling the cuffs. "Take 'em off, I'm cool." Dobey did; willing to take any small victory for the moment. He knew the war was yet to be won.

Hutch was silent during the drive back home, and Dobey wished he could draw the boy out; understand what he was thinking. However, he knew that would take time, and he was just going to have to be patient. When they pulled up in the driveway, it was crystal-clear; however, that Edith Dobey was a force to be reckoned with. Harold had rarely seen her _this_ angry, and for a moment; even _he_ was tempted to duck and cover.

Hutch couldn't believe it! Restriction…him? Here he was sixteen years old and stuck lying on his bed staring at the ceiling! He couldn't believe she had actually restricted him and actually seemed intent on making it stick!

For one thing, he figured he could split any time he wanted, and there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it. And for another, the most confusing part for him was why she should care so much. It wasn't like he was her kid or anything. That got him to thinking that maybe they were making money on the deal or something. He decided to find out.

Hutch clattered down the stairs in search of Edith Dobey. He found her ironing in the kitchen, humming softly to herself.

In his customarily blunt fashion, Hutch asked, "What's in it for you? Why are you doing this? Why do you give a damn?"

Automatically, Edith started to reprimand the boy for his language, but the look in his eyes stopped her.

Gently, she asked, "Doing what, Ken?"

"You know, taking care of me; giving me a place to crash."

"Because, Ken, we wanted to. Both my husband and I want to see you make something of your life."

There was a quizzical look on Hutch's face as he considered this for a moment. Then his innate cynicism kicked back in, and his face reflected a bitterness that broke Edith Dobey's heart.

"Right…So how much are they paying you to put up with me?"

Edith put down her husbands' dress shirt and regarded Hutch intensely. Her beautiful chocolate eyes glistened with tears. She tilted her head to one side, thinking. Edith stepped around the ironing board and stood directly in front of the tall young man. She put her arms around him and pulled him down into a fierce hug, holding him tightly. She finally let him go, praying she would some light in his bright crystal-blue eyes. As she stepped back, however, his face was once again a mask, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Ken, we're not being paid anything for having you in our home. We waived the fee the county would have paid us. Both Sgt. Dobey and I would like to have children, and we have put money aside towards that dream. So far, God has not blessed us with any children yet." She flashed a mischievous grin at him. "At least, not till _you_ came along!"

Hutch was shocked into silence, not so much by her words, but by the hug. The last woman to hug him like that, or show him that he was truly loved, had been his mother. She had disappeared just after that night, back in New Jersey, when he was seven years old.

Oh, he had been with girls since, girls who always said they loved him; but he knew as well as they did, it was mostly just business. In fact, he had lost his virginity one night to a girl back in Trenton when he was fourteen. She was nineteen and had never even asked his name. He never saw her again, and figured she was just happy to have the twenty he had given her.

Hutch shook away the memories, and glanced at Edith almost shyly. "As far as havin' a kid goes, I'll bet I'm not exactly what you bargained for, huh?"

Edith smiled at the boy. "Don't give up on yourself, my dear. I have found in life that if I am content with what I am given and patient, things have a way of working themselves out. Also, Ken, I have faith in you."

Hutch shook his head, but Edith was rewarded with a half-smile. He headed for the front door, figuring to take advantage of her milder mood.

Edith smiled to herself at the attempt, but spoke sternly to the retreating boy's back. "And just where do you think you're going, young, man?"

Hutch turned back to her sheepishly, sighing deeply. His answer came out as a question. "Upstairs?"

"Right!" She shooed him back upstairs with a laugh. "Now go on with you! I have work to do. I'll call you down for dinner. She returned to her ironing with a smile and a silent prayer of thanks for the bit of progress made that afternoon.

 _September 20, 1963_

 _Bay City, California_

"Well, guess this is it, hey buddy?" Starsky crammed another bite of pizza into his mouth. Even being depressed over the prospect of Hutch moving away was not enough to dampen his appetite very much. True, he had only eaten four pieces of pizza instead of his customary six or seven, but still…

Hutch sighed deeply, "Yeah, I guess it is."

Starsky had spent the night with Hutch, and they had stayed up most of the night, with Hutch playing his guitar. They had only gotten yelled at once, when they had gotten particularly loud at about two o'clock in the morning.

The boys were sitting on the front porch of the Dobey's house, surrounded by moving boxes. Hutch's foster family had found another house across town; one with more bedrooms, and a full garage. For you see, Edith Dobey had been right. Things did have a way of working themselves out. Soon after Hutch moved in, Edith found out she was going to have a baby. The ecstatic couple had already picked out names: "Calvin" for a boy, and "Rose" for a girl. Hutch was secretly rooting for a girl. The thought of the rough, tough sergeant cooing over a baby girl cracked him up.

"Okay, boys, Harold Dobey hollered. "Break-time's over!" Let's get back to work!" The boys spent the rest of the afternoon helping to pack and haul boxes and furniture to the rental van.

The biggest problem was that they boys were not going to be able to see each other very often as they would now live in different parts of the city and attend different high schools. Hutch knew he had a lot of school to catch up on, and that was going to swamp his weekends. Hutch sighed, hating the lonely feeling that was settling over him. He had the awful feeling that he would never see his best friend again.

Later that evening, Dobey and Hutch dropped Starsky off at his aunt's house. When they had parted, neither one had said much. Starsky simply said, "See ya around." And Hutch had quietly replied, "Yeah, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The half-hearted grin he wore disappeared the moment Starsky disappeared through the front door, and he was silent the rest of the evening. Hutch went to bed early that night, and both Dobey's were very worried about him, as well they should have been. The boy was disconsolate about yet another loss in his young life, and he turned his anger and pain inward.

Late that night, Hutch climbed out his bedroom window and headed downtown. This was not his brightest move, but in his pain he wasn't thinking clearly. He paid a man to buy him a bottle of tequila. He hid it in his jacket, made his way back home; climbed back up the trellis, and back in the sanctuary of his room, proceeded to drink himself into oblivion.

When Hutch didn't appear for breakfast the next morning, Edith went to check on him while her husband was in the shower. He didn't respond to her knock, so she quietly peeked in on him. What she saw made her both angry and sad at the same time. Hutch was sprawled on the bed, fully dressed, and still passed out. A liquor bottle with less than a third of the contents left was tucked loosely under one arm, and the room reeked of alcohol. With a heavy sigh of despair, Edith turned towards the bathroom, hating to have to tell Harold what she had discovered.

 _December 5, 1963_

 _Bayside High School, Bay City, California_

"Well, well, Mr. Hutchinson, I see we meet again. What do you have to say for yourself _this time_?" Vice-Principal Martin stared at the sullen boy sternly. Hutch stared back in stony silence. Mr. Martin sighed, realizing he was getting tired of dealing with this kid. "Since you know perfectly well there is no smoking anywhere on school grounds, and this is your second offense on this violation alone, I have no choice but to place you on two weeks detention after school. If you get caught making any kind of trouble at all again, I will suspend you."

Hutch glowered at the vice-principal. "Can I leave now?"

Mr. Martin frowned in disapproval of the boy's attitude. "Go on back to class. Make sure you show up for detention this afternoon. I will see Mrs. Dobey is notified."

Since Hutch was already on restriction at home, he knew this was not going to go over well. After the door to the office closed, he kicked a nearby trashcan viciously. He noted the huge dent with satisfaction as he stormed down the hallway.

It was in this distinctly dangerous frame of mind that Hutch headed to his next class. He considered cutting, but figured he was already in enough trouble. Unfortunately, Jack Riley, one of Hutch's classmates, and the school bully happened around the corner and nearly mowed Hutch over. Startled and already angry, Hutch grabbed Jack by the shirtfront and shoved him to the side. Jack recovered and jumped at him in an instant, and the fight was on.

A large group of students gathered around the combatants, seemingly out of nowhere, cheering them on. Jack landed a right into Hutch's middle that took the wind out of him and doubled him over. Hutch straightened up and threw a hard right cross into Jack's face. He scored a direct hit that broke his nose, and blood flew everywhere. Several teachers arrived amongst the cheering and unruly students. They broke up the fight, and one, the Phys. Ed. teacher asked, "Okay, who started it?"

Both boys stared mutinously at him. Both also pointed accusing fingers at the other. John Mitchell sighed, and stared at the bruised and bloody boys for a moment. "Okay. Let's go see Mr. Martin." To the rest of the students, he raised his voice, and warned them, "Everybody get to class! If you're late, nobody gets a tardy slip!" The students scattered as quickly as they had gathered.

Five minutes later, he found himself staring across the desk at a very frustrated Mr. Martin. The vice-principal waited for a long moment before speaking. The boy across from him sat stiffly and radiated hostility.

Mr. Martin shook his head and decided on honesty. "You know, I am really getting sick of seeing you in here."

Hutch shot back, "So quit haulin' me in here! I ain't too fond of you either."

"That's it, young man! You go sit in the outer office and wait for Mrs. Dobey. You are suspended for three days!"

Never one to leave well enough alone, Hutch replied, "Fine by me, I could use a break!"

Furious, all the man behind the desk could do was point to the door. Hutch sauntered through it arrogantly as Mr. Martin picked up his phone to call Hutch's foster-mother.

Edith Dobey drove down to the school. She was not happy. She went over in her head the list of chores she would assign to the boy over the next three days. He would be cleaning gutters, raking leaves, and cleaning the garage the entire time. If he managed to get that done, well, he could always clean the attic!

Edith had him scrub all the concrete in front of the house and Harold made him clean the bathroom with a toothbrush when Edith ran out of ideas on the morning of the third day. Hutch seemed almost glad to be going back to school, and the Dobey's were hoping the worst of the discipline problems were behind them. They were wrong.

In March, he received two week's suspension for taking a bet and breaking into Mr. Martin's office, and leaving a note on his desk ridiculing the security of the school. As a touch of finesse (translate: stupidity) Hutch even signed his own name to the note. Mr. Martin wasted no time in making it clear that this was Hutch's last chance to avoid expulsion. This would have created Major problems with Hutch's probation officer, so Harold realized he was going to have to take drastic measures.

He bought a storm window and installed it over the window in Hutch's room. They removed all the furniture from his room, making him help move it into the spare room. They removed all his belongings, including his books, record player, and worst of all, his guitar. They left only a mattress, and a blanket.

The door was locked from the outside. He had to knock if he needed to use the bathroom, and leave the door cracked while he was inside. He was given one set of clothes to wear, which he changed twice weekly, when he showered. Bland meals were eaten alone in his room, and dishes removed silently. No one spoke to him the entire time, except to issue an instruction. He was literally in solitary confinement the entire two weeks, with absolutely nothing to do the entire time—except—to think.

Late in the afternoon on the fourteenth day, just when he thought he was going to go completely insane, Harold unlocked the door and stepped into the room. He asked Hutch to come into his study. Harold cleared his throat and began. "Look, Ken. I know you've had a rough time of it. But I hope the last two weeks have taught you something. We have had to be tough on you. You haven't given us any choice. But I want you to know that we are not giving up on you, son. I want you to remember that. We _won't_ give up."

Hutch was silent for a long moment. Okay. I'm sorry, too."

Dobey smiled and told him, "Alright, then. Let's get your room back together."

The following to school, and not two hours after he left, Harold Dobey got a call at work from Vice-Principal Martin.

"Sgt. Dobey, I just wanted to tell you that Kenneth was in to see me this morning."

Dobey cringed inwardly. "Already?" What did he do this time?"

"No, Sergeant. You misunderstand me. He came to apologize to me for breaking into my office. I must admit I was completely shocked."

"I'll bet. Well, thank you for letting me know." Dobey hung up with a smile, and called Edith to tell her about the minor miracle that had occurred.

Edith made Hutch's favorite meal that night—roast chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, Brussels sprouts, salad, and chocolate cake.

 _May 10, 1964_

 _Bay City, California_

Hutch managed to keep himself out of trouble and was trying to bring his grades up. He would never admit it to anyone, but those two weeks in "solitary" had really had shaken him up. For the first time, he realized the Dobey's could have simply let him continue with the garbage he had been dishing out, and he would have ended up in Juvenile Hall, at the very least.

He was on his way home when he spotted a fight going on in the school parking lot. He started to simply walk past, but he simply couldn't do it. He headed towards the melee, and realized several boys were beating up on a lone smaller boy. His impatience with injustice kicked in with a vengeance. In short order, the bullies scattered, and he helped the other boy up.

Everything would have been fine, had not Mr. Martin happened on the scene just as the boys scattered. He caught Hutch and the other boy, and hauled them into his office. After hearing explanations from both boys, he asked them to sit in the outer office while he sorted things out. He came out and told the other boy he could go. He asked Hutch to follow him back into his office.

"Mr. Hutchinson, I am pleased that you defended Mr. Davis today. You stood up for him when he could not defend himself. However, because you were fighting, I should suspend you."

" _Great_ ," thought Hutch, " _here it comes_."

However, while I cannot condone what you did, I do understand. If you promise me you will refrain from fighting for the rest of the year, and keep yourself out of trouble, I will overlook what happened today."

Relieved, Hutch replied, "Sure, Mr. Martin. Thanks. Can I go now?"

"Go on home. Say hello to your folks for me."

As he left, Mr. Martin reflected how far the boy had come this year. He picked up another student's file with a sigh.

 _August 24, 1964_

 _Bay City, California_

Hutch was sitting on the rocks, watching the rocks one early morning. He would soon be a senior in high school. He had been working hard to get good grades, and had also been working part-time at a dune buggy shop in town; so his summer had been a busy one. Summer school had been a must in order to raise his grades high enough to graduate, but actually, he should be in the upper third of his class if things kept going the way they were.

He found himself thinking about Starsky, as he frequently did. He hadn't seen him in over a year, as he hadn't been able to make Starsky's graduation the previous June, but he still missed him. He wondered If Starsky ever thought about him anymore. Probably not. Not much ever seemed to get to that kid. The last Hutch had heard, Starsky was making vague plans for the future, providing of course, that the Draft Board didn't get him first…

As Hutch sat on the rocks daydreaming, he noticed a great-looking blonde in a dark green swimsuit run by. Never one to let opportunity pass him by, he got to his feet and headed toward the water. In the process, he "accidently" bumped into the girl, catching as she started to lose her balance.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine—no harm done." She laughed; a bright, sparkling sound that enchanted Hutch immediately; and he asked her name.

"I'm Nancy Griffin."

"I'm Ken Hutchinson, and I'm pleased to meet you."

"Me, too!"

"Would you like to take a walk?"

That would be nice."

Nancy was a bit nervous. She looked carefully at the tall boy beside her. He had shaggy, light blond hair, a great body, and gorgeous blue eyes. But I wasn't just his looks. There was something about him that fascinated her. For Nancy Griffin, age 17, it was love at first sight.

 _June 17, 1965_

 _Bayside High School, Bay City, California_

Hutch was sweating under the cap and gown. He never thought he would make it through this past year, but having Nancy around helped. She was a smart as she was beautiful, and he liked the combination very much. They had been spending a lot of time together recently.

He remembered when he first met her on the beach, and then the last time they were together on that same beach, just a few nights ago. They had made love more than a few times that year, and so far everything was great. They had always been careful. They weren't stupid. They had been dating exclusively almost from the first day they met. He had never been with anyone like her…someone who really seemed to care…

His attention was brought back to the stage as Nancy's name was called to receive her diploma. He cheered; calling out her name, and whistling loudly, knowing it would make her blush. Sure enough, he was rewarded by the blush, and her beautiful smile.

A few minutes later, his own name was called, and he had his own cheering section, made up of Nancy, Harold, Edith, and their little boy, Calvin.

After the ceremony, Harold handed him an envelope. "I received this in the mail the other day. There was another letter, asking me to give this to you today, after your graduation. Hutch opened the envelope, and as he read, his eyes misted over.

 _3 April 65_

 _Middle of Nowhere_

 _Blintz:_

 _Sorry I couldn't be there, man. I wanted to, but the damned Army got me first. I'm on the train for Fort Benning in Georgia for boot camp as I'm writing this, and then I guess it's onto Weapons and Tactics School, and then eventually the big V. In case I don't get a chance to see you or talk to you anytime soon, I just want you to know, you're still the best friend a guy could ever have. Congrats on graduation. I'll write again when I can. Wish me luck._

 _Starsk_

Hutch re-read the letter a couple of times before putting it into his pocket. Vietnam. _Shit!_ He had been afraid something like this would happen to Starsky. He couldn't imagine his best friend in a uniform, or taking orders from drill sergeants, let alone finding himself in a godforsaken place like 'Nam. He knew Starsky's chances of coming back in one piece, and they weren't good…

Nancy came over to him, bubbling over with excitement. He tried his best to push Starsky's letter out of his mind, but it wasn't easy. They attended a couple of the graduation parties, and wound up at a friend's house crashed out on the floor. The next day they all went to the beach and ate too many burgers and drank too much beer.

Hutch knew he was taking chances, especially since the end of his probation was so near, but he just wanted to relax and enjoy spending time with Nancy and his friends. The Dobey's had eased up on him quite a bit in the past few months. He was just trying to decide what he wanted to do with his life. He was toying with the idea of becoming a mechanic, as he had kept his job at the dune buggy shop, which had expanded into motorcycles as well. He just wasn't sure.

August 28, 1965

Edith asked Hutch what he wanted to do for his eighteenth birthday. He told her he just wanted to go and get his record sealed. Other than that, he had no idea what he really wanted to do with his life. Most people he knew had no idea that he went to court on the morning of his birthday, and came home a free man.

That night, he and Harold had a long talk about what was important in life, and they waxed philosophical late into the evening. They got into quite a discussion about Vietnam, and Hutch found that he could understand why Dobey believed the war was important; that the _principle_ of what the U.S. was trying to achieve made sense; that the goal was worthwhile. He even found himself beginning to agree with Harold on some points. That didn't stop him from worrying about Starsky, or some of his other friends who were already headed over there. And he knew perfectly well that he could be next.

 _February 17, 1966_

 _Bay City, California_

Hutch walked into the kitchen, where Edith sat drinking her morning coffee.

"Mom, I've decided to join the Army. In fact, I enlisted yesterday."

Edith nearly dropped her coffee cup. "What?!"

"Dad and I got to talking about it again the other night, and I just get the feeling that it's what I ought to do. In a way, it would be honoring him because he believes in it so much. Besides," he admitted, "I'm surprised my number hasn't come up already."

"Have you talked your decision over with him?"

"Yeah, He said I should talk it to you about it, but that it was up to me."

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Gravely, Hutch nodded.

Edith stood up, kissed him gently on the cheek, and said, "Then I will keep you in my prayers, son."

Hutch breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was tell Nancy.

He called and asked to see her.

"Oh, Kenny, I'm glad you called. I really need to see you, too." She sounded upset, and he asked her what was wrong. She grew a bit evasive, and would only say she wanted to see him as soon as possible. She hung up quickly, and Hutch was suddenly scared to death. He jumped on his second-hand motorcycle and raced over to Nancy's parent's house. She met him at the door, and it was clear she had been crying.

"Nance, what's wrong?"

"Not here. Let's go down to the beach. I don't want to talk here."

Heart in his throat, he quickly escorted her out to the bike, and they headed out to their favorite cove.

Once there, he held her as she drew a shuddering breath, and blurted, "Oh, Kenny, I'm pregnant!"

To his credit, Hutch managed to keep his cool, even though his head was swimming. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. Mom took me to the doctor this morning. I didn't want to tell you until I was positive."

The thought that the baby might not be his never entered his mind. He trusted Nancy implicitly.

Gently he asked her, "What do you want to do?"

"Mom asked me the same thing. I want to keep my baby. I don't want you to feel as if you have to do anything though. I'll be okay, no matter what you decide to do."

"Wait, what do you mean? The baby's mine, too!"

"Yes, but I don't want you to do anything out of sympathy!"

Hutch cut her off with a kiss. "Nancy, I love you. You should know that by now. Whatever happens, I want us to be together. I was going to ask you anyway, but now seems like a good time." He produced a small diamond ring from his shirt pocket, and dropped to one knee onto the sand.

"Nancy, will you marry me?"

"What?!"

"I said—will…"

"No, I heard what you said, but you mean you were going to ask before this anyway?"

"That's what I said, so what do you say?"

"Yes, oh, yes! Kenneth Hutchinson, I will marry you! I love you!"

She began smothering him with kisses and they fell into the sand laughing. Finally, he was able to untangle himself from her and place the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. She gazed at it in silence for a long moment before looking over at him intently.

"You asked if you could see me when you called. What was it you wanted to see me about?"

Hutch stared at her, suddenly realizing his life had just gotten very, very complicated. He ran his right hand through his hair, a mannerism he had when agitated.

"Oh, God, Nance; I enlisted in the Army yesterday! I just felt like it was something I needed to do. Can you understand?"

Nancy's eyes widened for a moment. Tears began to flow down her cheeks, but she said, "Yes, I think I can understand. I just can't bear to think of you in that awful place, all alone. I don't want to be apart from you. Especially now."

I know. If I had known about this…"

"Kenny, I don't want a big wedding. Let's just go to the Justice of the Peace. It's okay with me. That way we'll have a little time together before you ship out."

"What are your parents going to say?"

"I don't know. I guess we'll just have to face them together. What about yours?"

"Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we? I just hit them this morning with the Army. I imagine they can handle this."

 _February 27, 1966_

 _Bay City, California_

With just their families in attendance, Nancy Jean Griffin married Kenneth Hutchinson at City Hall. The bride wore a lacy white blouse and skirt. The groom, after arguing unsuccessfully for jeans and a tee-shirt, wore a nice black suit with a white dress shirt. The newlyweds spent their honeymoon at Newport Beach.

 _March 13, 1966_

 _Los Angeles, California_

Hutch left home to head for Fort Benning, Georgia for boot camp on a nasty cold morning. The irony was not lost on him that he was headed to the same camp his best friend had gone to nearly one year before. Nancy was double upset over his leaving, partly because she felt the date, the thirteenth, was a bad omen. He comforted her as best he could, and watched her through the window pulled too far away to see her any more.

 _December 18, 1966_

 _St. Louis, Missouri_

Hutch was exhausted, cold, and very depressed. His medic training was almost over, and then they would be sending over to a hospital unit in Vietnam. He really wasn't sure to feel now that the reality of the war was so very close. He sat quietly on a bench in the chow hall, awaiting mail call.

Letters from were very precious, but unfortunately, the army wasn't known for its efficiency when it came to delivery. Therefore, he might go for weeks without a single letter, and then suddenly receive a bundle of letters several inches thick…

The sergeant started calling out names and tossing mail to the hopeful soldiers in the room. Hutch's breath caught every time a name was called, but ten minutes later he was ready to give up as the sergeant reached the bottom of the sack.

"Last up guys: Hutchinson, Kenneth, PFC." Noting the multiple postmarks, the sergeant added, "Looks like this one traveled around quite a bit before it found you, soldier." He tossed a single letter Hutch's direction. He opened it with trembling fingers, wondering if he was finally about to learn what was happening with his family. The letter was joyously brief:

September 30, 1966

My Darling Husband,

I hope this letter reaches you _soon_! I also hope all is well with you. I have some very special news for you. Please look at the enclosed photograph, and say hello to your son, Eric James Hutchinson. He was born on September 19, and he is absolutely perfect!

He reminds me so much of you, with lots of blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. He was 8 lbs. 4 oz. and 22" long! The doctor said he will likely be tall when he grows up—imagine that! He is such a good baby, and I can't imagine loving him any more than I do already. I just brought him home from the hospital yesterday. We are both doing very well, and both miss you very much. I sing to him every night, and I tell him stories about his daddy, about the beach, and about your motorcycle! Please take care of yourself. Write back when you can, and know that I love you!

Your, Nancy

Hutch startled everyone in the room by letting out a whoop of joy and shouting, "I'm a daddy!" It took quite a while for the men to settle down, as Hutch was well-liked, and reasons to celebrate such as this were few and precious indeed.

 _February 12, 1967_

 _San Francisco, California_

The day they had all come to dead had finally arrived. Hutch stood in an interminable line along with hundreds of other soldiers waiting to board a troopship bound for Vietnam. There had been only a few more letters from Nancy since the birth of Eric, and he worried about them constantly. He was scared and lonely, and like most of the others around him, believed deep down that he would never see home again.

Once assigned a berth aboard ship, he settled his belongings, made up his rack and headed up onto the deck, where he found a relatively quiet corner, behind some shipping containers. He leaned back against the bulkhead with a sigh, drew up his knees, and stared off into space; afraid to contemplate the future any further. No one bothered him, but after several hours of his remaining completely silent and motionless, he attracted the attention of a passing lieutenant. The officer watched him for a while, wondering if he had a possible breakdown on his hands. It had happened before, and when it was the real thing, it was always heartbreaking.

Hutch spent all his spare time rooted to that same spot for the rest of the trip, with the lieutenant watching him carefully. He never bothered Hutch, because the young soldier was apparently functioning normally. He just seemed to prefer his own company.

 _April 22, 1967_

 _M*A*S*H Unit 7053, Vietnam_

Hutch was beginning to feel like he would never get enough sleep or coffee again. Since there wasn't time for the first with all the casualties that had been coming into the hospital, the second was an absolute necessity, and he found himself drinking his eighth cup of the day. It was watered down and bitter, but it was still coffee. He had assisted in six surgeries so far, and although he really wasn't supposed to be doing some of the things he was doing since he was a medic and not a nurse, there was such a shortage of hands, he did them anyway.

The hardest part was watching the waste of life in this godforsaken place. There were so many young men who entered this hospital who never made it out. After a while, it all became a blur. He had a brief conversation during a rare break in the action with the doctor he was assisting.

"Doc, will I ever get used to this—I mean, to the death and the blood and the pain?"

The doctor looked at him for a long moment and replied grimly, "If you do, I don't want you anywhere this tent."

Chastised, and humbled, Hutch nodded at the doctor, who gave him a tired smile. They both got back to work, running outside at the shouts of "Incoming!" that signaled more arrivals in the never-ending stream of broken and mangled bodies.

 _August 28, 1966_

 _M*A*S*H Unit 7053, Vietnam_

It was sweltering on this rainy afternoon, and Hutch was feeling particularly homesick. He wanted so badly to be spending his birthday at home with his family.

There had been a lull in the action, which was good for the troops of course, but made for mind-numbing boredom for those stationed at the hospital. Normally, they were fairly creative about ways to combat the boredom, but it was too miserable to play ball, or even to play poker, since nobody could concentrate long enough to keep a decent game going. It was so hot and miserable that even the nurses didn't hold much interest.

Hutch was sitting in the chow hall disconsolately pushing the so-called food around on his tray. It was dinnertime, but apparently nobody felt much like eating, and the room was nearly empty. He started to stand up to dispose of the offending meal, when suddenly he heard some very off-key voices singing "Happy Birthday." The cook brought in a cake with a bunch of black market candles lighting it. The party that followed cheered everyone up considerably. It was loud, raucous, and lasted far into the evening.

July 17, 1968

Outside Pow Dong, Viet Nam

Hutch was sweating inside his fatigues, even though the rain was pouring down in buckets. That was one thing he had never gotten used to here—the unending rain and heat of the jungle. He was pretty sure he would never be dry or cool again. He couldn't get over the fact that it was in the upper nineties at about ten in the evening. He was making another run to Pow Dong. He knew according to Army regs he shouldn't be doing this, but the villagers there received no help, and the men and teenage boys were being conscripted into the Viet Cong Army right out of their beds, leaving the women and children destitute. He knew he was taking big chances every time he went there, but it was not in him to watch innocents suffer at the hands of their viscous oppressors. Not when he could do something about it.

On this night, he was packing in some sulfa drugs and some extra bandages and suture kits he had managed to procure off the black market for his friends in the village. He also carried several pounds of hard candy for the children.

Several low voices near him alerted him to the fact he was not alone. As he cautiously approached the area, he realized that the voices were Vietnamese, and that he had stumbled onto a Charlie encampment. He flattened himself against the floor of the jungle, breathing heavily as fear and adrenaline pumped through him. He had picked up enough of the language in his time here to recognize what was being said, and it didn't take him long to realize that he had run across some high-level brass having a meeting in the dead of the night. They were planning to wipe out a nearby American base camp, and several key front-line positions. Instinct took over at that point.

Hutch lobbed the three grenades he was carrying on his utility belt: one dead center into the middle of the chattering men; one into the tents, and one into the vehicles parked to the side of the tents. He then turned and ran like hell, knowing even then it was far too late, but happy he had acted as he had. _At least he had done one thing right in his life. Sorry, Starsk…Good luck, buddy!_ These were his last thoughts as a tremendous explosion knocked him off his feet, and blackness enfolded him.

 _July 18, 1968_

 _Near Pow Dong, Vietnam_

Hutch awoke to a rifle bayonet being shoved into his back as he was hauled roughly to his feet. Apparently, the explosion had hurled him into a ravine, which had saved his life. _Or maybe not_ , he realized, as he studied the impassive faces of his captors. He was stripped of his uniform shirt, boots, and socks, which were eagerly commandeered and quickly wagered for by the guards. Sardonically, Hutch noticed the game they played was "Rock, Paper, Scissors." The winners claimed their prizes smugly.

His arms were twisted behind him, and secured with a stick tied behind his elbows high on his back. He was whipped and beaten with the enemies' fists before being marched endlessly through the jungle with a few other fellow captives. Thus began the longest nightmare of the young soldier's life. He knew to ask no questions, and other than taunts or threats, his captors remained silent.

The constant enforced march, accomplished by several changes of guard, meant that there was no rest or food for the prisoners. This began to take its toll on the sick and injured men, and one man, who was more seriously injured than the others, began to fall behind. When threatened by a guard, Hutch pulled him to his feet, and glowering at the guard, whispered to the young man. "No time for pride. Let me help you." He agreed, and Hutch stayed by him, helping him stay up with the group when he needed it. In this way, they eventually reached their destination, a P.O.W. camp deep in the jungle.

 _July 25, 1968_

 _Sing Lai Prison Camp, Vietnam_

After marching for several days, his captors dragged a battered and sick Hutch into a clearing where there were several rough-hewn buildings, along with a large concrete building set back from the others. A wooden sign, written in both Vietnamese and English on the concrete building, caused Hutch's heart to sink when he read it…they were "guests" at the dreaded "Sing Lai Prison Camp" famous for its brutal treatment and inhuman "medical experiments" on its captors. The Geneva Convention was not even a consideration here. The Commandant was rumored to be completely crazy, and even his own men were terrified of him. He had been known to kill them outright if one of them even thought of defying or even disobeying him. The small village near the prison was filled with the families of the guards; his other method of control. Hutch had heard he had cut off communications with his own superiors years ago. This man was a law completely unto his own. Many times _both_ sides had tried to take this place out, and both sides had always failed. And here, fate had led him…

They deposited him alone into a very narrow, deep foxhole in front of the buildings. He was unable to sit or lie down in this space, so he simply slumped to the side, as they covered the foxhole with a metal grate. He fell into a fitful, exhausted sleep.

A short time later, a guard noticed he was sleeping, and dumped a slop bucket on top of the grate. Hutch barely had time to turn his face to avoid the worst of the mess. He was given no food or water that day. The next day was a repeat of the first, as he was allowed no sleep, or food. He was given a small cup of water, which he made last as long as he could. It didn't last as long as he wanted, because the cup was taken from him before sunset. For three days, every time he fell asleep, buckets of muck or filthy water were poured on him. He was delirious with fever long before he was finally pulled from the foxhole and placed alone in a small cage on the third day of his captivity. Although he was given a crust of bread and a cup of water, he was unable to eat until his third day in the cage. The cup of water sat until the second day.

From the cage beside him, came a whisper. "Better eat and drink. Look guv, if you don't, they stop bringin' it. Besides, it'll save you trouble you don't want, mate." Now Hutch could hear the distinctive London accent. "If the bastards bring you in to meet the boss, just go along with it. I've got some chums comin' to throw a surprise party for our friends. Not as soon as I'd like, mind you, but still…"

Hutch leaned back tiredly. "How can I trust you? How can I trust anyone around here? Just who the hell are you, anyway?" He twisted painfully to peer at the man in the other cage. The man was tall and wiry, with filthy but bright blond hair and blue eyes. Although his face was bruised and cut, he had an optimism about him that definitely didn't belong in this place.

The man smiled crookedly, and tossed a careless salute his way. "Mark Slate, late of Her Majesty's Royal Marines, recently of much more _interesting_ employ…"

 _August 10, 1968_

The commandant of the camp decided it was time to meet the latest arrivals personally. He commanded his men to bring the prisoners one at a time up onto the porch outside his office, since he did not want the stench from them stinking up his office. He had a score to settle with the next prisoner on his list. His brother-in-law had been at the meeting that this prisoner had broken up so rudely the month before. He had no use for the man, but his wife was still giving him hell about it.

The meeting was brief and to the point. The soldier would not bow to him, nor give him any information he asked for, so he was tossed back into the hole he was originally placed in when he was first brought to the camp. Unfortunately, this seemed to be a common theme amongst the American and British soldiers who came to this camp. Rarely did they divulge the information needed. Therefore, many times, their captors were forced to use— _harsher_ methods to extract the information they required. Eventually, the men either broke, or they died.

At that moment, the British captive, one Lt. Mark Slate, was being interrogated once again, and the Commandant had no doubt they would eventually find out many useful tidbits from the young man, even though he seemed to be an unusually strong subject…

As Mark was thrown roughly back into the cage he had occupied for the last few weeks, he tried hard to stay conscious. He was hurting badly, but he knew he was the key to blowing this hellhole wide open. His partners would be waiting for the signal. Unfortunately, he didn't have the information he needed. He hadn't been able to get inside the Commandant's office to get the plans, yet. And at the rate he was going, it might not happen.

For the first time, he realized Hutch's cage was empty. He sighed heavily, hoping the other man was okay. He was beginning to like the brash, brave young American. During their talks, he had learned Hutch had refused to hand over any information at all, and had paid dearly for his stubbornness. He reminded him a bit of another American he knew. Actually, he was a perfect blend of the two partners—Napoleon's charm and bravado, and Illya's coolness and intelligence—which got Mark to wondering; maybe there was a way after all…

The next morning, Hutch was returned, not to his cage, but much to Mark's surprise, to his own cage. Things were working out to Mark's advantage for a change. Later that afternoon, several more prisoners were marched into the camp, and two men were put into the cage Hutch had previously occupied. Mark knew it was finally time to put his plan into action with the arrival of the other prisoners. He had to trust his fellow prisoner to help him. It was now or never. Keeping their voices to whispers, he leaned over to Hutch.

"Hutch, do you think you could get into the Commandant's office?"

"You mean, by force, or by offering intel?"

"Intel, false intel. There's something in that office I need, and I can't get to it. I think you can."

Hutch looked intently at the other man for a moment. "Just who _are_ you, Mark Slate, and what do you want?"

Mark sighed deeply and admitted, "Would you believe me if I told you I'm on your side, but I'd have to kill you if I told you any more than that?"

"Not if you want my help. And I'd say you've seen too many Bond movies." Hutch replied evenly. "Besides, right now, I doubt you could kill a dying rat. So, I think I'm safe."

Mark considered that for a moment, and managed a smirk. "You're probably right, mate, but don't get cocky. You're no better off than me. Do this, though, and we can both get out of here. That, I can guarantee."

Hutch thought about it. What real choice did he have? "Okay. I'll watch for a chance. What am I looking for?"

"A tube. A narrow tube containing plans for this whole installation. We think it _might_ be inside the cane the Commandant carries, but we're not sure. Another possibility is the aquarium in his office. He stocks it with poisonous fish. It would be just like the sick bastard to hide it one of the pipes inside the tank.

There's a lot more going on here than just a prison. There's an underground lab. That's what my organization is looking for. The plans, mainly for the lab. Then they'll know what to do to shut down whatever's going on down there. We'll also get everyone out of here. Free everyone. But you've got to get your hands on that tube. That means spending some time inside the Commandant's office. I don't know how you want to play it, but it has to be fairly soon. I've already been here longer than I was supposed to be. The ground troops are ready to move in on signal. And frankly, I am damned sick and tired of this place!" Here, he threw Hutch a full-blown movie-star style grin, teeth and all. Hutch couldn't help but grin back.

"Dare I ask what the signal is?"

"Believe me…you'll know it when you see it!" Here, he grinned slyly at one of the new arrivals in the other cage. Hutch's eyes widened at the other man, a slight blond, with the coldest blue eyes Hutch had ever seen. The man seemed to be ignoring both of them, as he settled further down in his corner, but Hutch knew he was listening to every word, as Mark intended. The only indication he had heard what Mark had said was a slight quirk of his eyebrow, and the ghost of a smile on his lips. It seemed that the "signal" would somehow be this man's responsibility…

Mark continued, "Now, here's the plan for _after_ you get the tube…"

 _August 15, 1968_

Things had gone rapidly from bad to _way_ worse. Hutch's plan to get into the Commandant's Office had backfired, sort of. Mark had gotten himself thrown into one of the foxholes over what had seemingly been a minor infraction the night before Hutch's incursion into the office, and the newcomer…well; let's just say he had somehow gotten himself on the Commandant's shit-list in a major way. Hutch wasn't sure what he had done exactly, but at the moment, he was outside, hanging upside down, shackled to a framework in the middle of the compound. He'd apparently been there for the past two days. Hutch's guards were still crowing about it. Rescue now seemed like a fairly remote possibility.

Hutch himself had been caught three days ago when he had been bitten by one of the damned fish in the tank. He had gotten and secured the tube, but passed out before he could get out of the office. When he regained consciousness, he really wished he hadn't. He was strapped into a chair, eerily reminiscent of ones he had seen in TV prison movies. You know the type; the ones where they strap the bad guy in and fry him? Yeah…those chairs.

The only comfort was that he had hidden the tube before he passed out, and they apparently hadn't found it. And maybe that's why the blond was strung up…maybe _he_ had. Because Hutch had tossed the tube out the window, and if he'd done it right, it should have landed in the cage, right where the blond was sitting. Where the tube was now was anybody's guess. And that's what scared him most, because he really couldn't tell them a thing…even if he wanted to.

 _August 28, 1968_

Hutch would never have believed that one body could stand so much hell. He found himself and his two friends being used as human guinea pigs in some of the most cruel and painful "medical experiments" imaginable. On the rare occasions he saw the other two, he noticed the stoic, almost dead expression on the face of the Russian, the one whose name he had never learned. He noticed he never uttered a sound—he seemed almost impervious to pain. His slight body would tense, but his mind would seem to be a thousand miles away. And he would say nothing…even when his younger partner was threatened. And Mark reacted in exactly the same way. He was just not as good at hiding his pain as his partner.

Hutch happened to catch a glimpse of a calendar in a hallway that day, and realized it was his 21st birthday. Bitterly, he thought despairingly, _"_ _I should be out getting drunk with my buddies, not here getting shot up with chemicals or zapped with electricity, or watching my friends being tortured!"_ It was the closest he ever came to breaking, but he steeled his resolve when the anger set back in, and they never knew how close he came.

As both a testament to his courage, and yet also to his disadvantage, Hutch would not break, and there seemed no way his captors could drive this young American to his knees begging for mercy. It simply was not in this man to do so. For many long days they tried. They tried everything they could think of, and the pain they inflicted was horrific. Still, he never broke. For, you see, dimly, he was aware of his friends, the tube, and the hope they still represented.

He would not break, and he sustained himself with thoughts of Nancy and Eric and how he would be with them someday soon. He thought too, about Starsky, and all the good times they had shared. That seemed to help the most when the pain was the worst. He would force himself to see Starsky's lopsided grin, and hear that gentle, happy laugh of his. He was determined to see home again and equally determined not to give these bastards the satisfaction of seeing him break, or worse, beg…

 _September 11, 1968_

Hutch lost track of time after that. But somehow, the day came. His friends came through. And he did know the signal, oh, did he know! So did anybody for miles around! By this time, he had seen his partners in crime a few more times, and he had learned that the silent blond with the cold blue eyes, the one called "Illya" was a master with weapons, and was also an expert with explosives…any kind of explosives. And the signal turned out to be the Commandant's beloved Office being blown sky-high—along with his damned aquarium full of poison fish—much to Hutch's delight. Fortunately, Mark and Illya had managed to get the men out of the cages loose first, so they were nowhere near the fireworks at the time.

The guards were herded into the cages and gleefully guarded by their by the former prisoners. The Commandant was summarily executed by Illya when he attempted to escape by scooping up a weapon conveniently "missed" by Mark and Illya. The Commandant fired at Mark and missed. Illya fired back, and did not.

When Hutch asked why it had taken so long, Illya had calmly replied it had taken him that long to free both himself and Mark from their captors. When Hutch realized the date, and the condition of his friends, he was filled with shame at questioning the stoic Russian. They had both clearly been through hell, and had still managed to free him, along with all the others. For the first time, Kuryakin smiled tiredly at him, his accent very thick indeed. "Is ok, is part of job. I think you have _tovarisch—_ comrade—waiting for you beyond gates." Hutch looked at him quizzically, but his words didn't quite register.

Mark realized his fellow agent had reached his limit, and caught the older man just as his knees buckled under him. Predictably, the Russian brushed away his hands, and tried to rise on his own, growling expletives in his native language. Mark would have none of it, and wanted him to lie still for a while. Hutch would have thought it funny, if the standoff hadn't ended so abruptly. As it was, all three men sprang to their feet, when the prison gates suddenly burst open with an explosion worthy of Kuryakin's best efforts.

And leading the company of men there to rescue the prisoners was the one man Hutch had never really expected to see alive again. SSgt. David Michael Starsky, US Army Special Forces grinned widely at his best friend. "Somebody call out for pizza?"

~The End~

A/N: This story is dedicated to my brother Michael, who was shot down and wounded in Vietnam, but thankfully, was never a P.O.W. I love you, brother, and thank God you are still in my life.


End file.
